handed" Lucy, who, while performing various other miscellaneous offices, was baking the cakes, filling his cup, and throwing in kind words and smiles. A spoiled favourite of fortune (so called), rising from the distasteful luxuries of a twelve o'clock breakfast, might have envied our baker's boy!
"Oh, mother," asked Charles, "has father decided about the ticket for the lectures?"
"Yes; at least he left it to me, as he always does, and I am determined to go, provided Mr. What-ye-call-him says that a family-ticket will admit Lucy."
"To be sure it will—is she not one of the family?"
"There are few," said Lucy, slightly blushing, "that consider help so."
"Then they are fools, Lucy, besides being geese—but, in order to be certain, besides being sure, I called on Mr. 'What-ye-call-him,' mother's name, you know, for all mankind, besides a part of womankind, and asked him, and he said any one that lived with us was one of the family."
"But be honest, Charles—did you tell him I was your mother's help!"
"No—why should I, any more than that mother was your help—no disparagement to you, Lucy; but I think mother is the greatest help we have in this family."
"If help means aiding every one, and more kindly than any one else ever did, I think she is the best help in the world, Charles."
"Oh, Lucy and Charlie—go about your business—you are turning my head!"
